


The Snake and the White Wolf of Rivia

by malevolent_muse



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Witcher (TV), Thor (Movies), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolent_muse/pseuds/malevolent_muse
Summary: Loki, having failed to destroy the Ice Giants, determines he rather take his chances falling into the abyss than continue to be a disappointment to his father. It is only when he finds himself stuck on the Continent, and without a way home, does he resort to mischievous methods of relieving his boredom.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Loki (Marvel)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 58





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxxRIPLEYxxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxRIPLEYxxx/gifts).



“Look at you,” Loki spewed in contempt, his brother’s hammer on top of his chest weighing him down to the Bifröst bridge, “the mighty Thor. With all your strength, and what good does it do you now, huh?”

Fuel by anger, he would not let his brother get the best of him. Loki would not be stopped in his efforts to destroy Jotunheim, the Ice Giants realm. Only once it was gone would he finally be able to fully reject his biological heritage and prove to their father that he was worthy of the throne of Asgard.

Throwing his head back in rage, the younger of Odin’s sons continued, “Do you hear me, brother?! There is nothing you can do.”

Inexplicably, Thor summoned Mjölnir to his side. Then, using the hammer, he knelt down on one knee and began to strike at the bridge itself. With every blow, cracks appeared along the length of the Bifröst.

Pushing himself to a sitting position, Loki watched in absolute horror as it was clear that Thor’s strength was more than adequate to destroy the bridge.

“What are you doing?” Loki screamed, “If you destroy the bridge you will never see her again.”

Referencing the mortal woman Thor had fallen for on Earth was not enough to stop his brother. The elder of Odin’s sons continued to smash at the multi-colored crystalline surface. The hammer in his hand caused shards of the Bifröst to fly into the air with every blow.

Upon realizing there was nothing he could say to stop his brother, Loki clambered to his feet and sprinted towards Thor. Closing in, Loki leapt, the powerful scepter in his hands pointed towards Thor. If he had to kill his brother in order to carry out his plan, then that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

As he descended, he watched as Thor felled one last blow with his hammer. Upon final contact with the bridge, Mjölnir’s impact caused an explosion.

Blinding light and a wave of heat and energy flung both brothers up and into the air and towards the edge of Asgard. Currents of water, falling over the edge and out into the ether of space, were below them as they continued to fall. With nothing and no one to come between them and the abyss, it looked as though the brothers would descend into oblivion.

Suddenly, their momentum was halted. Loki’s scepter was still in his hand and Thor had grasped hold of it. And their father, Odin, having awakened from his Odinsleep, was at the broken end of the Bifröst, holding onto Thor’s leg. Their father had come to their rescue and was the only thing saving them from certain demise.

Glancing up at his father and then over at his brother holding one end of his scepter, Loki said, “I could’ve done it, Father! I could’ve done it! For you! For all of us!”

“No, Loki,” replied Odin, the disappointment in his voice as clear as day.

With only two words, his father had crushed all of his hopes, dreams, and aspirations. It was though he been swimming in an endless sea. And then, upon seeing a ship in the distance, he swam to it only to watch it pass him by, leaving him to drown. What was the point in continuing, he should just give up. He should just let himself drown.

His features must’ve given away his intentions, causing his brother to shout, “Loki, no!”

Releasing the staff in his hand, Loki let himself fall into the abyss. The last thing he heard was his brother, screaming in distress and sorrow, “NO!”

As he fell, he felt nothing, he let the coldness and emptiness of space overtake him. How long he retained consciousness, he did not know. A few minutes, months, years? Who was to say? One thing was certain, he did not rouse from his oblivion until his body was captured by the gravitational pull of a planet’s orbit.

The fiery entry into the sphere’s atmosphere woke him as he quickly came crashing down and with as much force as a meteor. Finding himself lying prone on the upheaved earth, Loki spit out a mouthful of wet dirt. Groaning in pain, the Asgardian turned on his back only to find himself naked. The heat and flames from his entry having burned away his clothing.

“Good thing I’m not mortal,” Loki muttered, getting to his feet to surveying his surroundings.

Unperturbed by his nakedness, he climbed out of the depression his meteoritic descent had made. Looking around, he observed the felled trees along his path to the ground and the subsequent furrow in the earth. But the baked dirt of the trench leading to the small crater was filling with water. It seemed that, of all places, Loki had landed in some sort of swamp.

“Isn’t this just perfect?” he grumbled sarcastically.

Unsure of what to do next, he found himself a patch of greenery and took a seat. Leaning back against the mossy surface of a nearby tree, Loki exhaled a deep sigh. He didn’t know where he was or what he should do. His brother and father would believe he was dead. And even if they thought there was a possibility that he had survived, Thor had destroyed the Bifröst. There would be no rescue. He was stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning scene was a direct adaptation from the ending of Thor (2011). 
> 
> See the excellent video edit that inspired this story [here](https://youtu.be/uoo7pLcG4pE).  
> Also, a special shout out to xxxRIPLEYxxx for agreeing to do an OTP fic exchange with me! The link to that story, Deus Ex Machina (Loki Edition), can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530873?fbclid=IwAR26rTWQadOPwxJrI2Qrdj_S9tZKWNNQ5Begtq_ejPbHV07wxjk5C6pEtBY).


	2. The Commission

Sitting at the back of the tavern, Geralt took a sip of the swill the barkeep had the nerve called ale. It was more akin to horse piss. Still, it was at least alcoholic and, consequently, better than water. Besides, a backwoods town like this probably had a contaminated water source. Men and women such as these were typically the types of idiots who didn’t know how to dig their latrines properly.

“Are you a Witcher?” a pimply-half shaven man asked, approaching Geralt and sitting down across from him.

Glancing down at the liquid in his mug, Geralt replied, keeping his level of disinterest at a bare minimum, “Depends. Why are you asking?”

“There’s a snake,” the man explained, “in the nearby marsh.”

“I suspect there are a great many snakes in a great many places. They are no concern of mine.”

“This snake shape-shifts,” the man expounded. “Sometimes it is a snake, sometimes a horse, and sometimes a man.”

“What you are describing,” Geralt remarked, “is a Vexling. Vexlings are members of a kind and gentle race. You have nothing to fear from such a creature. Touch it with silver and it will reveal its true form.”

“I rather give you the silver and have you get rid of the creature,” the man fumed. “It raped my daughter!”

“ _Raped_?” Geralt thought to himself, “ _That seems unlikely. More likely the Vexling showed the girl its true form and she was disgusted and simply told her father the creature raped her. This man is just simple-minded enough to believe her.”_

 _“_ Come now, Witcher,” the man entreated, setting a small stack of silver on the tabletop. “Kill this monster for me.”

Taking a moment to contemplate the man’s proposition, Geralt sighed as he stood up and took the payment. He might be considered an abomination, seeing as he was a mutant and no longer truly human, but he still did not understand why his fellow men were so quick to hate anything different than themselves. Still, work had been sparse of late and he could use the money.

“I’ll rid you of this monster,” Geralt stated.

Pushing past the man, the Witcher exited the tavern and made his way over to the bay colored mare he had tied up outside the establishment. Making sure the trappings to both the saddle and the harness was secured, Geralt mounted his steed.

“Come, Roach,” he muttered, giving her a slight press with his heel and a nudge with the reins.

Departing from town, Geralt headed east, towards the swamp.


	3. The Brawl

During his professional career, Geralt of Rivia had traveled all over the Continent. He had yet to come across a monster he could not vanquish. Though, as the years progressed, the monsters that had once overrun the land were now scarce. Bumbakvetches, Tsoobs, Lutins, Strigas, and Vodyanoys: he had seen and slain them all. Neither humble nor a braggart, he had once carried with him a sense of accomplishment.

But now, now he was reduced to hunting snakes.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, Geralt crossed into the marshland. The evening sun, still hours from setting, provided little light. The thick foliage and strands of moss hanging off of branches of the malformed trees prevented most of the sunlight from making it to the swamp floor. The heavy mists rising from the ground did little to help the visibility issues.

Not that it mattered, his cat-like eyes were more than up to the challenge. Speaking of his eyes, he kept them peeled as he looked for this shape-shifting snake in addition to making sure Roach stayed on the path. The last thing he needed was for her to take a misstep and go lame.

The swamp around him was alive with muted sounds. Frogs, birds, and insects were chirping and buzzing, growing ever so quiet as he approached and picking right back up again as he left their vicinity. Even then, it was easy to hear the whistling when it started.

Turning his head, Geralt could not seem to find the direction from which the noise was coming. It seemed to be surrounding him all at once.

And the tune being whistled, he knew it well, unfortunately.

“ _That fucking bard_ ,” the Witcher told himself, “ _next time I cross paths with him, I’m going to wring his neck for writing that song_.”

It wasn’t until whoever was whistling began to sing, that Geralt was able to lay eyes on his foe.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher; oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty. Toss a coin to your Witcher: a friend of humanity.”

Turning Roach around, Geralt raked his eyes over the figure singing. The man was tall, with jet-black hair and green eyes. Lithe and yet still muscular, he looked like someone accustomed to the finer things in life rather than the rough-hewn spun trouser and linen shirt he was currently wearing. And, if someone’s essence could be bottled up and labeled, Geralt would not hesitate to call the man a sly bastard.

“I never did like that song,” Geralt growled, interrupting the man.

“Oh really,” remarked the bastard, “I thought it was quite the rather a catchy tune. I especially like the bit where you, the White Wolf, fight off an army of elves all by yourself in order to defend the honor of a bard.”

The snide and condescending tone of the man’s voice was irritating, to say the least. And now that he had met the snake, he would not put something like weaseling his way between the legs of a local young woman out of the realm of possibility.

“That’s not how it happened,” the Witcher remarked, dismounting from Roach and pulling the long sword from off his back.

Geralt would’ve thought this action alone would’ve been enough to frighten the bastard into silence, but apparently, the man was too stupid to have even an ounce of common sense as he kept talking.

“No, you’re right. I suppose the fool-hearty hero always gets the praise and recognition at the cost of the rest of us being looked over entirely.”

His intention, as he strode up to the man leaning up against a tree, was to scare the Vexling into simply running from this place and never returning. Geralt wasn’t about to kill the creature just because the locals did not know the difference between a monster and a harmless shapeshifter.

Grabbing the man by the collar, raising his sword and pressing the edge of the blade against the man’s throat, Geralt remarked, “I am not a hero. I am a professional.”

The man didn’t even blink.

“Clearly,” the man remarked. “Though the song didn’t mention you would be so rude. You haven’t even asked me my name.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt grumbled, “I don't typically ask a creature’s name before I kill it.”

“I am Loki of Asgard,” the shapeshifter pronounced. “And, if you must know, I’m not a creature, I’m a god.”

Groaning inwardly at the man’s delusional hubris, Geralt shoved the man’s shoulder hard against the tree trunk.

“You will be a dead god if you don’t clear out and leave the townsfolk around here alone.”

“Oh,” Loki laughed, “you’ve been sent to rid the swamp of pests, have you? You’re right, you are no hero, you’re a rat-catcher. But I guess ‘toss a coin to your local pest control’ doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Typically slow to anger, the Witcher found himself wanting to slice the bastard’s throat open. But, even as the thought crossed his mind, the creature before him seemed to be shrinking and within seconds was a snake slithering across Geralt’s boots. Kicking at Loki, he cursed the serpent and raised his sword only to bring it down moments later across the creature’s back.

Inexplicably, the blade did not even pierce the snake’s skin. Loki, however, in this time, had grown bigger and longer, the coils of his body wrapping themselves around Geralt’s legs. The increased weight on his lower appendages caused the Witcher to lose his balance and fall to the wet and soggy ground below.

Hearing Roach neigh in alarm, Geralt ignored her and just hoped she’d stay on the path as both he and the snake rolled off into the underbrush.

Again and again, the Witcher struck at the body of the snake with his sword, but to no avail. It was almost if the serpent’s scales were made out of hardened metal. Clearly, this was no Vexling. Vexlings could only change into people or creatures they had observed with their own eyes, not to mention, they typically stayed about the same weight through their transitions. This was not true of Loki.

Abandoning his sword, Geralt dug in his pocket and pulled out a vial. Downing the potion inside, he began to tug at the snake, trying to disentangle himself. He knew the potion would give him the strength he needed to overcome the creature, whatever it was, he just needed to wait for the elixir to take effect.

“Get. Off. Me,” he growled as he pulled at the metallic encased sinew.

Minutes ticked by and still, Geralt could not free himself. He was strong, but Loki was stronger. Additionally, it was not only Loki's strength he which he had to contend; while he was trying to disentangle himself from the creature, the serpent had been dragging him through the wet and soggy underbrush. His clothes were soaked, torn, and dirty and the skin beneath them bruised and scrapped by the stray rock and tree roots he was pulled over.

Geralt’s decision not to don his armor before this encounter had been a foolish one.

It wasn’t until they reached the edge of a small pond that Geralt realized he was in actual danger. Loki was clearly intent on dragging him beneath the surface. Grabbing onto a nearby root as a last-ditch effort, the Witcher held on with all his might.

It was like two dogs fighting over a length of rope, playing tug-of-war. But in this instance, Geralt’s body was the rope and it was being pulled taught. Feeling the connective tissues and sinews in his body stretch and scream in agony, the Witcher only used the pain to steady his will against his opponent.

But then the root he was holding onto snapped and he found himself quickly immersed in the dank swamp waters.

Loki’s serpentine body curled and coiled around his limbs and chest, squeezing him so tightly he could not even hold his breath. Using the last of his strength, Geralt balled his hands into fists and landed repeated blows against Loki.

He struck again and again.

His strikes landing in quick succession at first but then slowing.

Geralt doubted Loki could even feel the last few blows with as little force there was behind them. Not that it mattered, he was defeated. Though his eyes were open and quite capable of seeing through the murky water, the edges of his vision filled with the inky blackness of death.


	4. The Kiss

Heaving the Witcher’s body out of the water, Loki was filled with regret. He had been in this realm long enough to learn about its inhabitants, none of them were more intriguing to him than the Witchers. From the stories he had been told, the Witchers were a tough breed. Consequently, when he had come across one and he had only wanted a little fun. He had been so bored. And of course, he’d gone too hard too fast. Now it looked as though he’d managed to make a mess of things and kill the guy.

That was unless…

Straddling Geralt’s limp form, Loki intertwined his hands before starting to pump up and down on the Witcher’s chest for ten counts before then giving the other man a bit of mouth to mouth resuscitation. He knew it probably wouldn’t work, that the Witcher was already dead, but at least he could try.

After a few minutes, Loki was ready to give up.

Coming to a stand, the Asgardian took a few steps away from the body, his bare-feet squelching in the mud. Frustrated, Loki pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. He wasn’t exactly reveling in the fact that he now had to dispose of a dead body.

A rustle on the ground made Loki turn around to see the Witcher cough and sputter as water came out of his mouth and nose.

“Oh good,” Loki exclaimed, walking back over and crouching next to Geralt, “you’re not dead. Want to go another round or have you had enough?”

“You…” Geralt sputtered, “are not a vexling.”

“Vexling?” Loki asked. “What’s a vexling?”

“Shape-shifter,” Geralt added between deep gulping breathes.

“I can shift my shape,” Loki explained, “this is true. But it’s because I know how to use magic… and because I’m a god. This one time, when my brother and I were young, I shifted into a snake. A much smaller one, of course. And my brother, he loves snakes. When he bent down to pick me up and admire me, I changed back. I went, ‘Bah, it’s me,’ and then I stabbed him. We were eight.”

Grumbling, Geralt struggled to his feet, still apparently exhausted from their little fight. The Witcher then began to look around as if he was searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” Loki asked.

“A rock,” Geralt replied, “so I can hit you with it and you can stop talking.”

A smirk colored Loki’s face, he was starting to greatly enjoy the Witcher’s company. The man seemed to have a rather interesting way of looking at things, not to mention, he knew how to fight: both admirable qualities.

“Here’s a rock,” Loki said, pointing to one close at hand.

Geralt glanced at the rock, back at Loki, and then again at the rock. Loki looked on as the Witcher took a few steps closer, bent down, picked up the rock, then pulled back his arm as if to strike the Asgardian in the mouth with it. Dodging the punch, Loki crouched and bowled over the white-haired Witcher before once again straddling him.

Swinging up at Loki, the Witcher still had the rock in hand and appeared determined to continue the fight despite his weakened condition. Seeing no other alternative, Loki grabbed both of the man’s wrists and held them against the ground.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Loki stated, “that’s your name, isn’t it? Or at least that what the song says. Where is Rivia? Because, honestly, I don’t know. I don’t actually know where I am. You see, I’m not from this planet, nor do I really know how I got here. You see I—“

His soliloquy was rudely interrupted by Geralt forcefully head butting him in the face.

“Ouch!”

Banging Geralt's wrists against into the ground, Loki was determined not to let the man beneath him catch him off guard again.

“Enough!” Loki snapped. “I am a god! You can’t just—“

This time the Witcher did not silence him with a physical assault but rather his mouth. Geralt’s lips pressed against his own and while not exactly caught off guard, Loki was certainly surprised. It was not as though Geralt’s physical advances unwelcome, just unexpected.

Typical was not the word one would use to describe, the Asgardian’s sexuality. In years past, he had been known to enjoy the company of all manner of genders and species. Before all the drama around the inheritance to his father’s throne occupied his time, Loki was sort of known as a slut.

With the press of Geralt’s lips against his own, Loki shivered with anticipation. Opening his mouth ever so slightly, the soft yet forceful press and movement of the kiss became more intense. Where lips overlapped, Loki couldn’t help but to snake out his tongue and trace it along the connection. Getting bolder, he then stuck his tongue in the Witcher’s mouth.

That was a mistake.

Pulling back in pain, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth, Loki seethed.

“You bit my tongue!” Loki cried, his speech colored with malformed pronunciations.

“See,” the gravel tones of Geralt’s voice tinged with satisfaction, “you are no god.”

Angry and, truth be told, still a little aroused, Loki spat at the Witcher; flecks of blood and spittle spraying across the other man’s chiseled features.

“I will have you know, I am well over a thousand years old! Just because your puny mind cannot cope with such —“

Geralt interrupted him with another kiss. This one was neither intense or as long as the last. With all the adrenaline thrumming through his veins from the first one, Loki took a moment to realize it was probably really not a good idea to be kissing Geralt of Rivia.

“Stop kissing me,” Loki growled.

“Then stop talking,” the Witcher replied.

“I thought you said you were a professional?”

“I am.”

Inexplicably, the breviloquent and concise manner in which Geralt spoke left Loki speechless. This had all started with simply wanting to preoccupy his time with someone more interesting than the local barmaid. Having grown up with Thor, physical combat was always viewed as an acceptable past-time. But never had the tussles with his brother evoked this sort of reaction. Now, he didn’t want to fight the Witcher. He wanted to fuck him.

Staring directly into the golden eyes of the Witcher, Loki noticed the irises were riddled with red threads. He wondered if Geralt was the sort of man that enjoyed being intimate with another man or was the Witcher simply using the kisses as some sort of ruse.

Bending his head down, Loki kissed the Witcher once again. This time, he placed controlled intent behind his actions rather than letting the heat of the moment carry him away. Geralt return this kiss, press of his own lips and tongue mirroring that of the Asgardian’s. That was until the Witcher turned his head.

“I thought you didn’t want me to kiss you,” Geralt breathed.

“I figured it was better than fighting,” Loki murmured as he started to trail kisses down the Witcher’s throat.

A sense of smug satisfaction, came over Loki as he felt the bob of Geralt’s larynx beneath his lips.


	5. The Dirty Chapter

“ _What am I doing_?” Geralt wondered to himself as he went limp beneath Loki’s sensual kisses.

This wasn’t like him.

Sure, after a fight, he often craved the feminine attentions of a woman.

But this… this was different.

Loki was no woman.

But his kiss… his kiss was more intoxicating than any woman’s kiss.

And now Loki, having let go of his wrists, was making his way down Geralt’s throat and chest. One did not have to be a soothsayer to know what was coming next. Breathing heavily, the Witcher lifted his chin to watch the Asgardian’s movements.

“ _Are we really going to do this here_ ,” he thought, “ _in the mud_?”

As he observed Loki making quick work of his trouser’s fastening, Geralt had his answer.

Lifting his hips, he allowed the other man to pull them down far enough that Loki had access to his quickly hardening member.

“Fuck,” he moaned, as Loki quickly engulfed the Witcher’s cock in his mouth.

Pulling back for just a moment, Loki moved his head and began bathing Geralt’s cock with kisses and licks. A hand had somehow made its way under his testicles and was tugging at themsoftly.

“ _Unnnnghhh_ ,” Geralt gasped.

It was clear that Loki knew his way around another man’s cock. Deep-throating the organ for just a moment, Geralt could feel it hit the back of Loki’s throat. Loki audibly gagged; such a beautiful sound.

As the Witcher's penis now thoroughly drenched in Loki’s saliva, the shape-shifter had no problems wrapping his hand around it and giving it a proper wank while still sucking on the sensitive glands at the end.

“Fuck!” Geralt gasped, knowing he wouldn’t last long if Loki kept this up. “I’m close.”

“Hey,” Loki replied as he came off the Witcher’s cock with an audible pop. “Wait for me.”

Even as the Asgardian fumbled with his own pants, he remained bent over. Bobbing up and down, he continued sucking even as he removed his own pants. The part of Geralt’s brain not saturated with lust was impressed at Loki’s ability to multi-task.

Sitting back on his heels, Loki spoke, his voice slightly hoarse from fellating, “You ready for this next part?”

Furrowing his brow, Geralt did not know what Loki meant. Though the Asgardian’s intention became quite clear a second later as he stretched out next to the Witcher and began to turn him so his back was to him. Feeling the stiffness of Loki’s cock press up between his ass cheeks, Geralt gulped. This was not what he had expected.

His mouth fell open, intending to voice some sort of objection, but instead, he found himself moaning as Loki wrapped an arm around him and continued his earlier administrations. It was then he felt the tip of Loki’s cock nudge up against his back hole.

“Breath out,” Loki instructed as he slowly thrust his hips forward.

Inexplicably, Geralt found himself doing just that. His muscles in the region relaxing as it became clear to him that, just as before, the other man knew exactly what he was doing. How or why there was a slickness easing the penetration of his body, he did not know, but he suspected it was magic. Maybe all of this was magic…

“ _No_ ,” he told himself, “ _My mutations make me immune to such sorcery. This… this is just…”_

He couldn’t even complete the thought because he found Loki now fully sheathed inside him. And as the Asgardian began to move, the Witcher experience such exquisite sensations, he could not even think. It was though pleasure was thrumming up and down his core while he was simultaneously getting a handjob and fucked in the ass at the same time.

All he could think about was the fact he was going to come… he was… going...going to.. he was…

“Fuck,” he shouted.

Spurts of white viscous fluid erupting from his dick, splattering along the ground and Loki’s fist.

“That’s right, Witcher,” Loki hissed, “come for me.”

As after-shocks threaded through his system and his cock became over-sensitive to even the slightest touch, he felt Loki’s tight grip at his waist as the Asgardian thrust in and out of his ass. Even though he was coming down from the most unfathomable high, part of Geralt still found he hadn’t had enough. Rocking his hips backward, he met Loki’s movements with a well-pleased sigh.

Who would’ve guessed, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, enjoyed finding himself impaled on a cock.

For a few more minutes, Loki continued fucking the Witcher, using Geralt’s tight virgin asshole for his own pleasure. Without a doubt, the Asgardian was enjoying the sensations and moans he elicited from the other man. Finally, Loki slowed his pace as he bucked his hips, unleashing and painting the Witcher’s insides with cum. 

Heaving a heavy sigh of his own, Loki leaned over and placed a delicate kiss on the Witcher’s cheek.


	6. The Epilogue

Despite having just recklessly fucked at the banks of a pond, clean up was fairly easy. Mostly, it was just scrubbing the mud off each other. Neither of them spoke while doing this, though when they caught each other’s eye they would exchange a timid smile. An odd exchange for two men who had gotten so intimate with each other so quickly.

Geralt turned to leave first, heading back to his horse and the trail through the swamp. Falling in step with him, Loki escorted the man in silence. Stopping only once to gather the sword Geralt had abandoned during their altercation. Only upon finding the path again (and the Witcher’s horse) did one of them speak.

As he tightening the straps of both saddle and the bags attached, Geralt said, “I was paid to rid you from these lands. If anyone in the area sees you again, they would believe I had failed, or worse, simply run off with their money. A Witcher’s livelihood is dependent on the reputation of our kind.”

“Are you…” Loki pondered aloud, “are you asking me to come with you?”

“You cannot stay here.”

“Can I ride the horse? I mean, not to usurp your right as its owner, but I don’t exactly have shoes. And, take my word for it, riding on a horse isn’t going to be the most pleasant experience right after being fucked in the ass.”

Shooting Loki a glare, Geralt begrudgingly helped the Asgardian onto Roach.

“Settle in,” the Witcher ordered, “we have a ways to travel before dark if we don’t want to camp out in this mud pit.”

“It’s not that bad. I sort of crash-landed here a while back and I never worked up the motivation to leave. I guess part of me hoped my family might come looking for me and it was best just to stay in one spot. They probably think I’m dead though. You see, my father —“

“Loki,” Geralt entreated as he took Roach by the reins and began to lead her out of the swamp. “Shut up.”


End file.
